


Dancing on the Edge of a Cliff

by CallaLilyPetals, Pajjpants



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alter Egos, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Although, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders is a Little Shit, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders is a Sweetheart, Everyone Is Gay, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hate to Love, Kidnapping, Logans kinda a dick, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Prince Roman, Roman gets his heart broken by a servant boy, Slow Burn, Stockholm Syndrome, alter ego, baker patton, baking contest, but not really, chapters are all proverbs, deceit is thriving, everyone is lying to everyone, fantasy setting but also not very accurate, follow pajjpants on insta for more content, go look at other sanders sides fics by vayquo, hint hint, king logan - Freeform, like a lot, logan isn't really the antagonist, lying, not really tho, pretty much, prince logan, roman and virgil fight, roman has a hero complex, sorry 'bout it, sorry:/, that would've been cool, they are not actually dancing on cliffs, thief virgil, virgil does not, we are logan stans
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-22
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2019-11-03 15:18:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17880218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CallaLilyPetals/pseuds/CallaLilyPetals, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pajjpants/pseuds/Pajjpants
Summary: Patton's a baker.Roman's a prince.Logan's heir to the throne.Virgil's a well known thief.When he is caught stealing, things go awry and it leads to a morally gray kidnapping, chases in the dark, a baking contest, and ten thousand gold in debt.





	1. To Cut off a Dealer's Pinkie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the first chapter of "Dancing on the Edge of a Cliff"  
> Where chapter titles are confusing, and the plot is complicated.  
> (The titles are all gonna be obscure proverbs.)  
> Written by Vayquo. Outlined by Pajjpants. -The artwork is all by Pajjpants-  
> lmao this was inspired by a roleplay ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ sorry 'bout it
> 
>  
> 
> Not to self promo or anything but like - check out @pajjpants on instagram for xtra content.  
> Updating every Friday and Sunday at 12pm EST
> 
> Enjoy! :)

 

Day 1, Patton’s Birthday  

 

The steam of the royal kitchens wafted, leaving Virgil dizzy from hunger. The room’s warmth making sweat peak on his forehead. Overwhelmed from the smells of pastries stirring with the scents of exotic soups and charred meats.

 

A couple of days ago, he had overheard Patton rambling to a customer at the bakery about the glorious desserts that were served at special events at the castle. Virgil knew Patton’s birthday was coming up so he had listened in, keen to hear what he could possibly get that could please Patton. It wasn’t like Patton was a hard person to get a gift for, it was just that - no matter how much Virgil didn’t like to admit it - he was a handful, and Patton taking care of him all these years must have been hard on him. Virgil wanted to get him something that he would remember.

 

Despite Patton being strict on the aprons staying only in the kitchen, he was able to smuggle one out, along with an especially puffy hat. He had tied the apron around his waist, strings loose for a perfect escape. Just in case.

 

He pretended to casually stroll through the counters of spiced foods, once in a while coming across certain sauces and giving them a taste. Basil and garlic and cilantro, savory flavors blending on his tongue. The desserts were in the back, the flour almost creating a cloud of fog. He had made his way, and felt a flicker of triumph in his chest.

 

Grabbing a certain apple turnover that looked particularly well-made, he snatched up a little brown box, stuffing it in hastily. _This is easier than I thought._ He almost smirked when he walked away, whistling happily.

 

“Excuse me, I don’t recall you being in these kitchens before?”

 

A taller, gruff ginger haired man stepped into Virgil’s path, stopping him dead in his tracks. Virgil’s face took on a teeth-grinding pallor, trying to scuffle to the side only to be blocked with the man’s chest once more.

 

“Guards!” The man called out, letting a smug snigger slip onto his face. Virgil loathed the gleam of conquest that lingered in the man’s eyes.

 

He bolted, running for the doors. His breath coming in rushed gasps, from the unexpected sprint. Although he had much practice in quick escapes and having to leave at a moment’s notice, his heart still gave a thrill at the feeling of the air whipping his cheeks.

 

Tearing off his apron, his hat going flying in the wind, he propelled his way through guards and dove under fences. The box tight in his hand, his tendons popping, knuckles going white from the cold, he darted through alleyways. Tarnished ones that had the walls covered with grime of drunken nights and last night’s mistakes. Sketchy ones that carried people that had the foolishness to hold their weapons in the day. He was sure that after all of this, the guards would go after them.

 

Oh, and the guards.

 

They were right on his tail, their supposedly heavy armor apparently not weighing them down even a little. Keeping pace, cutting corners with the ease of scissors. The same smug grin seemed to play on the guards’ faces. Both the guards and Virgil could see the stone wall that stared back.

 

Virgil full on smirked.

 

He charged for it, gaining speed. His ankles buckled as he latched onto the mossy cobblestones, securing himself on the cracks and crevices that he knew oh so well. He hoisted himself up, jumping onto the thin barrier between this neighborhood and the next. He bounded onto the burnt orange tiled roofs, the apron in his hands billowing in the harsh breeze.

 

He looked over his shoulder to find a strange collection of kids gathered around the guards in surprised awe. The guards less than amused, their eyebrows arched deeply into their faces, casting themselves in dark furious shadows.

 

Virgil shouldered a wicked grin, hurtling through the roof tops. Patton would never know a thing.

 

He grinded himself to a stop, his brother's bakery right around the corner. Virgil attempted to slow his breathing, his heart pumping out of his chest. Tugging a soft, innocent smile to his lips he pushed the door open, the bell chiming with his arrival.

 

Patton beamed, standing at the counter, wispy caramel hairs threatening to fall onto his face. “Hey, kiddo. Where have you been? Did you get the sugar from the market that I asked for?” He said, busying himself with wiping down windows and turning the sign at the front over from “open” to “closed.”

 

Virgil grimaced. He had forgotten the sugar, only to remember to get the thing that wasn’t actually needed for the wellbeing of the bakery. His face soured when he responded, “Umm...no. Sorry.” He shrunk into his shirt, going to the back to get some supplies to help clean up the shop.

 

Patton smiled anyways. “It’s fine, just remember next time. Today’s my birthday, there’s no sense in getting upset about something so small.” His face was alit, a golden light cascading against his silhouette. The light breathed more life into the already energetic Patton.

 

After a quick cleaning up of powdery mixing bowls and doughy whisks, they returned to the upstairs. Virgil withdrawing the box from the wad of apron he scrunched up to cover it when he had gotten inside.

 

Patton sighed as he leaned backwards on the couch, breathing in the traces of scones and croissants that stayed encased downstairs. Virgil sat across from him, his fingers ticking nervously against the blue ribboned box folded into his hands.

 

One of Patton’s eyes fluttered open at Virgil’s presence and blinked down to look at the box. He gave a slumber smile, “What’s that?”

 

Virgil gave a sly grin, unwrapping his fingers to reveal the little brown box. He set it down on the coffee table, sliding it towards Patton. His face abuzz with curiosity, Patton reached for the box, pulling on the ribbon lightly.

 

The room is hit with a rush of the smells that brought Virgil back to the palace. Cinnamon and apples. Perfectly goldened and crimped crusts. An audible gasp comes from Patton and Virgil wants to smile when he sees Patton takes a bite, delighted.

 

“How’d you get this?” Patton asked, recognition that this was one of the royal kitchen’s special treats, pleasantly surprised.

 

Virgil gave a full body shrug, leaning back into his chair. “I have my secrets.” Patton hummed in acknowledgement. 

 

Even though Patton and Virgil were brothers, they didn’t have the typical “I hate you, I hate you more” game. They had been through a lot, and their experiences had just made them closer. Virgil was really quite happy that Patton liked his present. He didn’t smile, though.

 

With a short song of happy birthday, Virgil retreated to his room to go to bed.

 

He hadn’t known why but something called in his mind. Whispered thoughts of things to come.

 

______________________________________________________________________________

  


Logan was standing in his respective quarters. His walls decorated with somber paintings and long plum curtains that dragged to the floor. Chairs lined with burgundy leathers and metallic buttons. A view that looked onto the gardens, lush greens and arrays of pastels.

 

A knocking came at the door, and Logan sighed to himself. “You may come in.” He called, turning his head back to the pleasant outlook. Although Logan was pleased that he would be the next in line for the throne, and anticipated his coronation as king, on some days it stressed him out. This was one of those days.

 

A guard peeked his head into the room, his hair falling to the side. He looked shocked to see Logan alive and breathing, like he was a foreign sight to behold. Logan scoffed, “Yes?”

 

The guard’s eyes widened further, clearing his throat through the embarrassment. “Sir, we were wondering how to take care of a notorious thief. Today, he stole something from the kitchens and we were very close to catching him, and the king thought it wise to ask of your advice since… your highness is...” The guard spoke fastly, probably thinking that that would hide the mistakes in his stumbling speech.

 

“Is that rhetorical?”

 

Logan grinned viciously.

 

“You cut the pinkie off a dealer’s hands caught skimming off the deck, do you not? I don’t see why we can’t just cut off all fingers of a thief's.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> K this was short, and the amount of words in a chapter will definitely fluctuate soooooo
> 
> Why not drop a kudos for a couple of pals, comments are good, too, i mean idk
> 
> (BTW the AU name is DotEoaC sooo... do what you will with that...)
> 
> Updating every Friday and Sunday.  
> Next chapter on Feb. 24th


	2. The Carrots are Cooked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back to the second chapter.  
> Written by Vayquo. AU and Outline by Pajjpants.  
> Go to @pajjpants on instagram for extra content! :)
> 
> Okay, so we wanted to have chapter banners at the beginning of every chapter but they weren't able to be seen by most people, so instead they will be posted to @pajjpants 's instagram story whenever a new chapter is up.  
> Thank you so much for all the support you guys have already given out, we love this story and we hope you can grow to love it too!
> 
> Updating every Friday and Sunday at 12pm EST
> 
> Enjoy! :)

 

Day 2, Virgil’s caught

 

Patton was finding it quite difficult to push through the crowds of people. It was hot outside and the bodies smashing into him did not really make him cooler. The heat colored his cheeks peach, furthering his normally youthful appearance. 

 

The throng of people overloaded his senses, his nose clogged with the smells of hot coals of ovens and freshly trimmed roses. It was early enough in the morning for it to be okay that the bakery wasn’t open yet, but late enough for him to miss the morning rush. Virgil and Patton were well off but, morning rush was always the most profitable and everything counts living as commoners. 

 

Even though he had told Virgil to watch the shop, he didn’t think he would. Virgil had had that look in his eye that was a like a future apology. An apology for something to come. Patton had grown to know what that look meant, and when he did, he always knew that he would have to close the shop anyways. He started leaving earlier in the mornings for ingredients. 

 

Patton had been wondering why the square seemed to be so crowded this morning, but that’s when he saw the stage. It wasn’t the type of stage where thespians came to tell their tales of sorrow and love, rather a stage where the accused would face their punishments. Patton had always thought it quite cruel but he didn’t have much against it. The real thing thing that made Patton’s mind go off the edge was who was in chains.

 

Virgil.

 

And his brain goes into overdrive, hyper aware of his surroundings. He pushed his way through the people in a dazed dash for Virgil. Making his way through swarms of sweaty arms and resentful grunts, he almost fell when his chest was met with the feet of the stage. 

 

“Excuse me. Excuse me!” He cried out, desperately whipping his head in all directions. Hoping to find someone who can tell him why Virgil would be the one in cuffs. The one who had his hands in chains. The picture horrified him. 

 

A guard peered to look at Patton, strolling towards him in question. Patton thanked the Gods. 

 

“Sir, do you know this criminal?” he asked, his gaze stern and unflinching. Patton gulped. 

 

Patton swore he almost fainted. Virgil wasn’t a criminal, he couldn’t be. He had raised him better. “He’s my brother. He’s not a delinquent of any kind, he works at my bakery with me. I’m sure you have the wrong person. Please, just let me speak to him.” He said, stumbling out the words in a string of almost unintelligible speech. 

 

The guard huffed out a sigh, “I’m sorry. We cannot grant you permission to talk to him without the prince’s admission.” He looked sympathetic for what it mattered. 

 

Patton’s face only grew increasingly distressed. “What are you going to do him?” He said, chewing on his lip.

 

The guard shifting on his feet, looked down, almost like he regretted the words that hadn’t even come out of his mouth yet. “His highness, Prince Logan, has asked of his hands to be cut off.” Even without the heat, Patton would still be sweating. His face went taut, his skin stretched tight across his face. His throat constricted. He couldn’t let that happen to Virgil, anything but that. 

 

“Is there anything I can do?” Patton said, frantic. 

 

The guard grimaced, “We’re just following orders. We don’t have a say in these matters, please move aside.” 

 

Patton normally followed the rules, but on this, he did not budge. He had promised to defend Virgil with his life. He wouldn’t let this happen. “I’ll do anything. Is there anyone I can talk to?” He said. 

 

“No, Patton. I did this, let me take the fall, please.” Virgil shouted, his head in stocks, the difficulty of looking up written all over his face. It just made Patton more determined to get him out, ignoring the original plea.

 

The guard frowned, solemnly. “We can arrange a meeting for you with prince Logan, however, to ensure public safety, we must imprison the thief in the meantime.” 

 

Patton beamed, clasping his hands together in delight. He nods fervidly, “Thank you so much, I completely understand. I’ll be at Foster’s bakery when you need me.” Despite his jaunty tune, he turned to Virgil and frowned. 

 

That night, Patton tried to go to sleep, but sleep didn’t seem to want to take him. 

  
  


______________________________________________________________________________

  
  
  


The cell was the smell of rotting corpses and decomposing rats. The revulsion that crept up Virgil’s throat was vile, and something gargled in his stomach. He wasn’t completely sure if it was the smell or if he was hungry. Until further consideration he realized that he couldn’t possibly be hungry with the stench that clouded the room.

 

His hood was up, darkening the shadow that lingered on his face. It was dank and chilly, the hairs on his neck standing up from the bitter air that nipped at his ears. 

 

The prince stood outside the cell, talking furiously to the guard. “Your royal highness, there’s been a minor conflict. The brother of the convict wishes to speak to you about his punishment.” The guard said, trepidation in his voice. 

 

The prince sighed, drawing his hand up to his face, rubbing his forehead in frustration. “Very well, I don’t know what he expects, though. The punishment fits the crime.” 

 

Virgil hit his head against the wall, the chains that held his hands up, rattling. Why wouldn’t Patton ever let him take the blame. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, this chapter was quite short, but... yeah. Like we said last time, amount of words will fluctuate so idk
> 
> The chapter title "The Carrots are Cooked" is a french saying meaning the situation cannot be changed. 
> 
> Why not drop a kudos for a couple of pals, comments are good, too, i mean who knows what could happen
> 
> (BTW the AU name is DotEoaC sooo... do what you will with that...)  
> Updating every Friday and Sunday.  
> Next chapter on Friday, March 1st


	3. If the World Flooded, It Wouldn't Matter to the Duck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back to the third chapter.   
> Written by Vayquo. Au and Outline by Pajjpants.  
> Go to @pajjpants on instagram for extra content! :)
> 
> Thank you so much for your support, we're so glad you guys have been liking it!!
> 
> Updating every Friday and Sunday at 12pm EST
> 
> Enjoy! :)

 

Day 3, Meeting Logan

  
  


Patton had never understood the difficulty of others not being able to dress themselves. Most of it from the fact he had never done it by himself till now. To tell you the least, it was not easy. This kingdom had a tradition of wearing overcomplicated garments, full of laces that tied to neat, delicate bows and tight corsets that led to little to no breathing. 

 

He would normally avoid getting dressed up as so, working as a baker and all. He wasn’t exactly thrilled to wear such formal clothes but he supposed it was necessary to meet a crown prince. After all, today he would be discussing his brother’s right to his hands. 

 

Don’t get him wrong, he was concerned. It was just that, in a situation like this, he thought the Prince to be so trivial. So Virgil may have attempted to steal a necklace, it was morally corrupt, yes, but in the same light, so is cutting off someone’s hands. You catch more flies with honey than vinegar. He had been considering many different offers to present but he kept coming up short with ways that would seem adequate to someone that, at first impression, seemed so cold. 

 

Securing the last rope along his back, he stood. Trying to inhale, his breath constricted, he walked to the door, peering out to look for any signs of guards. Only lonesome peoples seemed to come by, giving strange looks to Patton’s particular curiosity for the outside. He straightened his back, pursing his lips. Had the guards been incapable of convincing him to talk to Patton? Had Patton not said that he had wished to speak to him the day after? 

 

He sighed, resting his chin atop his clasped fingers. His eyelids were heavy, and he seemed to grow drowsy. He hadn’t just woken up, but the amount of steps that he had gone through to wear his outfit had come to be very tiring and his legs swayed below him. 

 

…

 

“Sir? Mister Foster?” 

 

Blinking the sleep away from his eyes, Patton looked up to realize that he had been taken by his slumber. He knew crust remained on the corners of his lips but he didn’t have the energy to wipe it away. He really wished he had been able to go to sleep the night before. 

 

“Yes?” He answered, flicking his tongue along the walls of his mouth. The acidic, garlicky taste on his gums. 

 

“Prince Logan wishes to see you. I’m to be the one to assist you to the location.” It wasn’t the same guard Patton had seen the other day. This one was younger, like one who had just graduated from his tutelage. Patton smiled, he reminded him faintly of Virgil. They both shared the bark wood hair of the forests that crept at the corners of the kingdom. 

 

At the thought of Virgil, Patton’s mind perked to life. “Ah, yes. Go on.” He said, gesturing to the door, nodding. 

 

Along the way through streets made of stone and brick, Patton’s fingers nervously fidget at his sides. He grew nervous, he was confident that he would be able to convince the prince to hear what he had to say, and to get Virgil out of this situation but, at the same time, he was nervous he’d mispeak. Tumble over his words, and suddenly he’s trying to persuade prince Logan into  _ jailin _ g Virgil, instead. He tries to remind himself that this isn’t life or death but at the same time, he wouldn’t know the first thing to do if Virgil lost his hands, especially to something he wasn’t completely sure Virgil even did. And before he knew it, the palace walls loomed above him, and he was stepping inside of them. 

 

A door opened and he was face to face with the heir of the throne. “Hello, your highness...sir.” Patton said, hesitant. He had thought that Logan would be much older than him, - although that made less sense when realized that he wasn’t even king yet - so he wasn’t sure why he was so anxious when they must have been  _ around _ the same age. 

 

He continued on, “I was hoping for you to reconsider the punishment that you raised on Virgil Foster? I know he did a bad thing but, I tried my best to be a good example of standup values and he’s just a kid! Kids make mistakes -” Patton, cut off by Logan’s raised hand of silence. 

 

Logan seemed to inspect him, dragging his eyes along Patton’s body. Patton not only felt violated but also revolted.  _ What gave him the right - _

 

“Are you really his father? You seem awfully young to have a child of his age.” He said, his voice bored and perpetually careless. He said it like everything he said was a fact, like he couldn’t possibly be wrong. 

 

“No, I’m his brother. But I have no reason to believe why that has the slightest thing to do with your injustice -” 

 

Logan’s face grew sour, not letting Patton finish his sentence. “ _ Your highness.”  _ Patton felt like he had just been lacerated, embarrassed. “I am way above your rank,  _ therefore _ you may call me:  _ Your highness.  _ To follow your thought, though, cutting off the thief's hands is a quite light punishment, and is quite justifiable. Your brother causes you frustration, wouldn’t you say? I have no clue as to why you couldn’t see this as suitable.” He finished, he looked proud of himself. 

 

Patton had never been one to be annoyed by someone but, some air about Logan made him inclined to tell him off. “ _ Your highness,  _ you are given many chances to not be looked upon as malicious during your rule, but right now you are not doing yourself any favors. Getting in a streak like this, will not aid your request in acquiring neighboring allies. It will set you in the habit of doing rash and unreasonable things later on.” He told him, giving a jerk nod as to say,  _ and that’s that.  _

 

As soon as it came out Patton realized he overcrossed his bounds, and his eyes grew to be the size of the pies he baked. Before he could mumble out an apology, Logan raised his eyes in amusement. The room sparked with competing energies. Humoring Patton’s - what Logan probably thought - frivolous request, he asked, ”What do you propose, Mr. Foster?” His eyes seemed to glint at the words ‘Mr. Foster,’ like it entailed something more than what it did to Patton.

 

Patton beamed, “I would like to pay off everything Virgil has stolen, including things he has unsuccessfully robbed.” 

 

Logan’s eyes went wide at that, surprise shining through the calculations. “You do know, Mr. Foster, that Virgil has been reported stealing for two years, yes?” He reminded him, and Patton gulped audibly. He thinks for a second that Logan may have been holding back a chuckle. 

 

Patton looked around the room frantically, as if the garnered paintings would give him any help, would lesson the amount of trouble Virgil has caused. “My offer still stands, your highness.” He responded, his fingers tapping along the sides of his trousers.

 

He leaned back in his chair, cocking his chin to Patton. Logan gave a measuring frown and nodded tightly, “Agreeable and unwavering. How royal of you, Mr. Foster. Have the money to me by the end of the month.” 

 

Patton could almost jump with glee, “Thank you, your highness. You won’t regret this!” 

 

Logan nodded, looking back down to his paperwork. “I better not, Patton Foster. Guards, take the thief and Mr. Foster back home, now.” Patton swore, that before the door closed, a smile flickered on the Prince’s face. Such a bizarre thought made him think that he could be seeing things. 

 

Virgil met with him at the gates of the palace, and all Patton could do was feign a disappointed look as they were led home. Virgil’s hood fell over his head in shame. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title "If the World Flooded, it Wouldn't Matter to the Duck" is a Turkish proverb meaning that something that is bad for you isn't bad for everyone. 
> 
> Why not drop a kudos for a couple of pals, comments are good, too, i mean who knows what could happen
> 
> (BTW the AU name is DotEoaC sooo... do what you will with that...)  
> Updating every Friday and Sunday.  
> Next chapter on Friday, March 3rd


	4. Slippery Ground Does Not Recognize a King

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back to the fourth chapter.  
> Written by Vayquo. Au and Outline by Pajjpants.  
> Go to @pajjpants on instagram for extra content! :)
> 
> We're so sorry that this was uploaded a day late, our upload schedule is changing to accomadate better so their spaced out better throughout the week so 1. You won't go almost a week without a chapter, and 2. so we have more time to prep the chapter after  
> So, we're no longer uploading on Sunday anymore, it's changing to Tuesday. We are also no longer uploading precisely at 12pm.  
> Sorry for the inconvenience!!
> 
> Thank you so much for your 500 hits, that is amazing and SO crazy!
> 
> Updating every Friday and Tuesday
> 
> Enjoy! :)

 

Day 3, Logan’s issue 

  
  


Logan leaned back in his chair, blowing out excess air. The chances of his father getting onto him later were high. He probably shouldn’t have agreed with the baker but, something about him had intrigued Logan and he decided to give this thief another chance. The baker seemed like someone strict with their morals so Logan wondered why his brother would do such a thing. His head was in his hands, stress radiating.

 

A knock came at the door, and he looked up to find Roman. All regality of a prince. Vibrant reds and warm golds that lined the intricacies of his outfit. A multitude of rings decorating his fingers in a shine that the sun glinted off of, ready to blind someone at any minute. His hair was quiffed back, resting in a pile of gel on top of his head. 

 

Prince Roman, was quite the brat. Desperate to be a martyr, to be the hero in someone’s story. Hopeless chances of becoming king, he played the act of one instead. Wearing a fake crown that he had made for himself. Everything about roman seemed highly illogical and quite disappointing coming from royalty, anyways. He was spoiled and had too much free time and Logan thought that Roman should start looking into actually earning something instead of just spending.

 

Roman walked to one of the paintings, inspecting it, tilting his head every which way. “Hello, you bore.” His voice was mocking and quiet, almost like he was talking to the picture. Of course, Logan knew otherwise. 

 

“Not the time, Roman. Go play with your servants.” Logan said, looking at the hourglass that sand filled. 

 

Roman flinched, turning to Logan, a particular pallor on his face. “Why? Has a girl declined your invitation? It’s okay, one day one of them will like you.” He smirked. 

 

Logan scowled, inhaling. He crossed his legs over one another, biting his lip. Examining his hands, the traces that ran across his palms and the knuckles that broke apart his fingers. “I let him go. Granted, with a price but… I let him go…” 

 

Raising his brows, Roman surprised. “Mr. Perfect has gone against daddy’s desires? Why, may I ask, would you do that?” He said, smiling devilishly. He is sitting in the seat across from Logan, his head cradled in his hands, like a kid listening to a bedtime story. 

 

His fingers spread across his face in frustration Logan huffed. “I have not the slightest clue.” 

 

Roman whistled, “Wow, that was particularly stupid of you. I didn’t think you had it in you.” He said, grinning. There was soft glaze that hovered in his eyes, his warm browns that seemed to melt in the light. 

 

Logan rolled his eyes into the back of his head, “You think I don’t know that?” Logan paused, straightening his back into his chair. His already pinched features, growing tighter. “Why are you even here?” He asked, judging Roman with a look of up and down. 

 

Roman chuckled into his sleeve. “Your anger is audible from the room over. I thought I should tell you.” He said, picking up a random folder that was on Logan’s desk, flipping through it aimlessly. Looking up at Logan after, raising his brow. 

 

“Great, thank you. You may go now.” Logan said, deadpan. 

 

Roman smiled, pushing himself up from the chair. “What are you going to do about the thief? Father  _ will _ be angry. Maybe his anger for  _ me _ will even subside.” 

 

“I know.” 

 

______________________________________________________________________________

  
  


“What were you thinking? They were going to cut off your hands! And stealing for two years? Where has all this stuff gone, cause we certainly don’t have it!” Patton berated Virgil in worry. 

 

Virgil inhaled, looking to the ground for help. Frowning at the pebbles that littered the floor. “I wasn’t - I just - I don’t know…” He looked up to Patton, sincerity covering his eyes. “I’m sorry. Patton.” 

 

Patton’s eyes were watery and threatened to spill out and flood. Virgil wanted to do something. Anything. He didn’t want to see Patton sad. He could take angry but as soon as it trenched over the barriers into disappointment, Virgil almost felt ashamed. 

 

He knew he had done something rash but, people born into wealth were not going to need the delicacies, people like Patton and him were going to need the money from it, anyways. He still stifled to think what he did was wrong. Maybe a bit morally grey, but it still made sense to him. 

 

Patton was tight lipped, “We have a lot of money to make in a very short amount of time. You have to be on your best behaviour. Understand?” He said, staring down Virgil despite being an inch or two shorter. 

 

Virgil felt small. “Yes. Yes, of course…” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title, "Slippery Ground Does Not Recognize a King" is a Kenyan proverb meaning that evn the most powerful are just human deep down, too. 
> 
> If you want to read more content written by Vayquo, you can go check out "Love is a Lottery Ticket," it does have abuse, so be careful. 
> 
> Why not drop a kudos for a couple of pals, comments are good, too, i mean who knows what could happen
> 
> (BTW the AU name is DotEoaC sooo... do what you will with that...)  
> Updating every Friday and Tuesday.  
> Next chapter on Friday, March 8th


	5. Good Lawyers are Bad Neighbors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back to the fifth chapter.   
> Written by Vayquo. Au and Outline by Pajjpants.  
> Go to @pajjpants on instagram for extra content! :)
> 
> I made it. yes, it is late but, i made it. One of these days i'm gonna stop procrastinating. i don't know when but one day. Less than half an hour before Saturday, but the deed is done.   
> It is short though so techinally, still a failure. 
> 
> Updating every Friday and Wednesday
> 
> Enjoy! :)

Day 3, Roman’s conversation with Logan

  
  


During the council, Logan had coincidentally forgotten that he had let the thief go. Or at the very least forgot to mention it. He did  _ not _ forget what he originally planned to do, though. Which, yes, did end in his father’s praise, and yes, did end in Logan’s guilt. 

 

Logan ambled down the hallways of the castle letting the red carpets lead him through the twisting paths of long lost rooms. If he had ever wished for pockets, it would be now. His hands having no place to go, lingering at his sides in uselessness. They were clammy and tingling, and his stomach lurched. He wasn’t one to keep things from people, and in doing so his vision seemed to tilt sideways. 

 

Before he could tilt over himself, a pair of hands latched onto his shoulders in a shake. Just at the turn of his head, twin eyes glittering with giddy and a sly grin spread on Roman’s face. “Peekaboo.”

 

Logan heaved a heavy sigh, looking up to the ceiling in dismay. “Yes, hello. Is there something that you desire, besides to bother me, of course.” Logan said, pushing up his glasses with the drape of his fingers across his face. 

 

Roman scowled, followed by the corners of his lips turning upwards wickedly. “I’m sorry, it seems like your mind has been quite - no, this is positively horrid. Almost atrocious. Talking like you, that is. Father says I’m supposed to sound more regal but, it’s harder than it seems. I already struggle to bore people like you do, and now you suggest for me to make it sound pretty, too? I may be cocky but I know where my wits end, and it ends well before talking like I have a stick up my arse and I’m stuck on the toilet with - what someone dignified would call it - excretion that can’t seem to come out. -”

 

The tangent goes on for a bit longer, while Logan just keeps his eyes and ears buried into his hands. Roman prostrating him to listen to the ludicrous of a rumbling prince who can’t seem to shut up. 

 

“So. Why didn’t you tell him?” Roman finally finished, widened eyes of energy. 

 

“I just have to hope that the baker can’t live up to his promise, if the thief steals again, or if their unable to pay, I can punish him, and we can pretend like I did it in the first place when I was supposed to. Everything will be fine. I’ll make sure of it.” 

 

Roman’s eyebrows lifted higher, smiling sadly. As if to say that it was not something worth stopping. Something that would happen, and that was it. “You’re going to break that poor baker’s heart.” He commented, leaning against the wall, propping one of his legs up against it. His head was at a playful tilt and the lights that streamed along his face froliced nicely with the shadows of his face. 

 

Logan resists the urge to bite his lip in exasperation. Gleaning his face of emotion, stifling another sigh. “I do not care for the baker, nor his heart. Justice and clear punishment must prevail. Utilitarianism is the only philosophy that a kingdom must follow and that is not my fault.” 

 

“Ugh, your self righteousness is showing and it isn’t your color. Lucky for you, it’s mine. Although, that was quite brutal of you, Logan. Praise has made your heart go cold, if it evens exists at this point.

 

“Praise does not dictate my actions, Roman. In fact, right now, you do with your annoyingly purposeless presence. You may leave now.” Logan had drawn himself in composure, folding his arms into one other. Chilly indifference in the length of his features. 

 

Roman raised a brow, “Then why is it that whenever dad is in the room you act like a puppy who has just wet the carpet? Or a child home from school with a drawing of their parents?” 

 

Rolling his eyes, Logan responded. “He is our superior. I am sorry I don’t share your inadequacy and I actually have something to work with to provide actual introspection and development. Maybe one day you should try not being a disappointment. It would certainly wow father, truly.” Logan paused, knitting his eyebrows. “Actually, it may give him a heart attack, instead.”

 

Roman seemed to be holding a stony gaze until bursting into snarky snorts and loud chuckles. Wiping away quiet tears, Roman utters, “Something even more fascinating than that prospect, Logan, is how defensive you get at the slightest accurate assumption.” 

 

“Ah, look at the time. It seems a certain person has to go do something genuinely productive.” 

 

Roman grunted, “Surely I’m not that particular person. That sounds divinely dreadful. You know what, talking like you does seem to get easier. I get it now.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title, "Good Lawyers are Bad Neighbors" is an Italian proverb meaning that a good lawyer cares more about the law than being a good neighbor. This one is a bit obscure but seeing as both Logan and lawyers both defend the law. 
> 
> If you want to read more content written by Vayquo, you can go check out "Love is a Lottery Ticket," it does have abuse, so be careful.
> 
> Why not drop a kudos for a couple of pals, comments are good, too, i mean who knows what could happen
> 
> (BTW the AU name is DotEoaC sooo... do what you will with that...)  
> Updating every Friday and Tuesday.  
> Next chapter on Tuesday, March 12th


	6. A Nice Fig is Often Full of Worms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back to the sixth chapter.  
> Written by Vayquo. Au and Outline by Pajjpants.  
> Go to @pajjpants on instagram for extra content! :)
> 
> Yeah, I'm not good at a conistent schedule but this is the longest chapter yet so   
> it makes up for it???
> 
> Updating every Friday and Tuesday .... kind of
> 
> Enjoy! :)

 

**Virgil meets Roman**

  
  


The sun is setting onto the horizon streaking the sky in hazy colors of the rainbow. Burnt oranges and bright pinks and baby blues. The sun seemed to flirt with with the moon as it was pulled into the sky, laughing along with the noises that echoed in the streets. The passing peoples looking to the sun, fleeing to their families to get home in time before dinner is spoilt. 

 

Light cascades into the bakery in a beam of brightness. The whispers of shadows that seem to haunt the corners of the shelves and crimped crusts full of goodness. It fell through the cinnamon and tree-bark hair of Virgil, leaving it brightly lit and almost umber. It breathed into his vibrantly lush green eyes, like the leaves of a thousand forests and a thousand emeralds. 

 

He scrunched up his nose, a slight tickle playing out against his features leaving him disgruntled and bothered. He huffed out a breath, scowling to himself, his shoulders hunching over. Patton looked at him with a slight twinkle, of what it looked, curiosity. It could’ve been disappointment or concern but Virgil didn’t think Patton was the type.

 

Patton’s gaze switched to look down at the counter stacked with gold peices. That was a  _ definitely  _ disappointment. “I don’t know what we’re going to do. This isn’t enough.” He regarded the pile ahead of him, biting his lip, a small bead of blood met his tongue. 

 

Virgil twitched his fingers, turning them inside out repeatedly. Running his fingernails under one another, gathering the dirt of them in nervousness. A deep pit of anxiety stirred in his stomach, his throat clogged up with a feeling of bile throw up threatening to rise. His heart pounded out of his chest. His mouth moved open and closed emptily, having no response to bare. 

 

A light bulb rang out in Virgil’s mind, sending his heart racing faster in wonder. “The baking contest, if you win, don’t you get money? Is that enough, do you think?” Virgil asked hurriedly, desperate not to further Patton’s dismay. 

 

Patton’s lips tightened in thought, “It’s worth a try.” 

 

Exhaling the breath he hadn’t known he was holding in, Virgil smiled softly to himself. 

 

Patton returned his smile and turned around to go upstairs to bed, sparing Virgil not a word. Virgil’s shoulders fell as the smile was wiped off of his face at Patton’s drained expression. 

 

“Goodnight, Pat, love you.” Virgil said quickly, hunching down. 

 

Not a single word.

 

Guilt clouded Virgil in a sorrowful illness that hushed all his other thoughts. His fingers ticked against the wood of the counter and plans seemed to form in Virgil’s head. Without a second thought, Virgil had his apron off and his hood on.

 

.

.

.

 

Cloaked by night’s shadows, Virgil haunted the dark alleyways of the streets, deep in thought. He hadn’t a clue on how he was to find the money to get him and Patton out of this. Guilt coiled inside him as he was met face to face with a wall of concrete. 

 

Backing up, he ran right for it, hoisting himself up with his own momentum. Bouncing his fingers along the stones quickly. Digging his fingers into the loose layers of dirt and soot. His butt hitting the ledge in exasperation, he looked over the city. The roofs of siena and seaweed, the night blanketing it in a mesh. 

 

He inhaled a breath, a wave of culpability at the thought of the sum he had to gather. Someone’s breath hitched, and shuffled feet scuffled behind him. With the quick turn of his head, and a dagger withdrawn from his pocket, the blade met air. Darting his eyes, no one seemed to be around. He exhaled. 

 

“How the hell did...you...get up there?” Said a stranger from somewhere, struggling to release the words through the lack of air in their lungs. Virgil lifted a brow, looking down from the ledge, finally able to detect the location of the sound. 

 

Virgil’s eyes, already adjusted to the dark, he was able to uncover the figure from the dark, heaving over, head preened up to look at Virgil. Which they were definitely failing at. Virgil laughed. “Practice. What’s it to you, ya’ old man?” He joked, leaning down to get a better look at the man. A troublesome grin on his face. 

 

The man huffed in complaint, flailing his arms dramatically. “What do you think I’m doing? I’m trying to get up there!” His voice was like velvet, unnecessarily fancy and melodramatic. The pretentiousness that weaved his words made him sound like a prince. He  _ did  _ sound spoiled...

 

Giving a blank stare to no one, since the stranger couldn’t even see him. “Duh, I mean why,  _ Princey _ ?” He teased, calling back another question. The man’s breath hitched at the nickname, and Virgil made a face. 

 

The smell of smoke and alcohol drifted along the streets, the scent wafting into Virgil’s nostrils in a cloud. Humidity of summer coming in on a wind. “I’m… well, I’m looking for someone. Can you help me up? Please?” 

 

Virgil smirked. “Nah, this is kinda  _ my place. _ ”

 

A scoff. “Ugh, fine. I’ll find somewhere else. Thanks for nothing, you parasite.” 

 

“Anytime…” Virgil snickered. 

 

The hooded man stepped away, letting night take him in its arms. Virgil decided to pursue the stranger with the strange motive and the weak legs. Following him, curving through alleyways. Obviously, this person wasn’t very trained as someone who roamed the streets. Just as Virgil was about to walk away, the man called out once more. 

 

“Why are you following me?” He asked, looking back at where Virgil just stood. “I know you’re there.” 

 

Emerging from the wall he had hid behind, Virgil’s eyes shimmered. “I wondered if you’d be able to find that person of yours.” Checking out the stranger, up and down, he continued, eyes lingering on the man’s blushing face. “And it looks like you haven’t. And I don’t mean to be rude, although I  _ really _ don’t care, but I doubt you  _ will _ find them. Or whatever you  _ are _ looking for, I mean, you’re dusting off your pants  _ in the slums _ .” 

 

At the comment, the stranger stopped his movements. Narrowing his eyes.

 

Virgil continued, “On top of that, you’re looking in the dark, and you seem to be lost.” He said patronizingly, making a baby voice. A pitying frown. 

 

The stranger huffed and rolled his eyes. “Well, this is important. And unless someone’s going to come along and help, I’m stuck doing this on my own.” 

 

Virgil cackled, entertained by the stranger’s bona fide concern. He didn’t think anyone cared anymore. No one but him and Patton. “I would help but, alas, I’m not going to.” 

 

The man snarled, his nostrils curling upwards. His eyes still covered by the shadow of his hood. “Frankly, I didn’t ask. But y’know what? Most decent people would help out of the goodness of their hearts.” He paused, rocking on the back of his heels taking a brief glance a Virgil. “Although, it doesn’t seem like you have one.” 

 

Feigning a gasp, “You wound me, Princey. My heart does exist, alive and breathing. It may be painted with tar and the dark, a pair to my soul. But I swear to you, no zombies haunt these streets. Not to my knowing, at least.” 

 

“Your edginess disgusts me.”

 

“Really? My efforts aren’t such a waste. The gods have graced me.” 

 

“You repulse me.”

 

“And I you.”

 

The stranger started to walk away and Virgil smirked. Some people just weren’t cut out for the reality of the kingdom. Before the person had fleeted out of sight, a thought came to mind. Virgil’s eyes widened and he ran to catch up.

 

Walking backwards, he reached in front of the man. Counting on his fingers, mouthing numbers. “Say, what if I were to help you? How much could you pay me?” He wondered aloud. 

 

Falsely swooning, “Oh, how dearly kind of you. I’m charmed, truly.” He gave a sour smile.

 

Rubbing his brows in frustration, Virgil groaned. “I need gold, alright? I’ll help you, I know the alleys better than you, obviously. Isn’t that what you want?” Looking to the man, pleading. 

 

The hooded figure looked up at Virgil, scowling. Virgil showed his most wicked grin. “How much do you want?”

 

Virgil smiled wider. “How much do you got?” The figure fell silent, holding an expression that can only be read as  _ really? _

 

“Greedy much?” He mumbled, annoyed. Digging through a sack of coins, counting and looking up at Virgil after finished. Almost like he was surveying him to see if he was worth it. He tossed the bag to Virgil’s feet in a grunt of weight being lifted from his hands. 

 

His eyes flicking from the bag to the man in anxiety. “How much is in there?” 

 

The figure ticked his foot against the floor, like he had somewhere to be. “It’s 500.” 

 

Virgil’s eyes lit up like stars, jackpots ringing in his eyes. That was sure to help him and Patton. He let out a whistle, “What’s to stop me from running, you are, as my brother would call, stranger danger.” He grinned at his own joke. 

 

“You wouldn’t.” 

 

Picking up the bag, inspecting it for holes, counting the gold inside. “Oh, but I would. And actually… I think I’m going to.” Slowly backing away with the bag in his hands, Virgil wore a mischievous smile. 

 

“Don’t d-do that! I’ll catch you, you serpent!” His voice was pleading, despite the man trying to keep his composure. Virgil was taller and knew how to weave through places easily. It wouldn’t be hard to run away. The figure took two small steps towards Virgil, biting his lip. 

 

Before the stranger could think to follow him, Virgil took off. A huge smirk smothering his face, an equally large bag of gold in his hands. 

 

Taking off of cobblestones and lingering dust, he laughed loud. The noise echoing off the streets, the race of his heart in the notion of a good chase. He knew he wouldn’t keep the money, he didn’t have it in him but oh, how he loved to tease. His feet slipping into large leaps and his head craned backwards to sky. His shoes not giving to any tiny pebble that most would trip on if they weren’t looking. 

 

Coughing of breaths that wracked his whole body after what - even to  _ him _ \- felt like miles he pounded to a stop. A strange giggle burbled up his throat. 

 

A figure came rearing up in a staggering coughing fit, Virgil smiled. “What...the… hell…I gave you… money.” Until the stranger drew himself composed he furrowed his brows in confusion. “Wait, why did you stop…?” 

 

Virgil smirked, looking up to the moon. Closing his eyes, breathing in the scent of night and the soft light that it brang. Opening them, he looked at the shocked and confused hooded man. He dropped the sack of coins onto the floor and turned and left. 

 

“I don’t know much of this brother that you mentioned.” Virgil stopped in his tracks at the shout, at the mention of Patton. His face grew stony. “But I’m sure he’d be proud of you.” 

 

Continuing his nightly stroll, Virgil smiled to himself, flipping up his own hood. 

 

“Oh! By the way, could you point me in the direction of Foster’s bakery?” 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title, "A Nice Fig is Often Full of Worms" is a Zulu proverb meaning to not judge others on how they look on the inside. 
> 
> If you want to read more content written by Vayquo, you can go check out "Love is a Lottery Ticket," it does have abuse, so be careful.
> 
> Why not drop a kudos for a couple of pals, comments are good, too, i mean who knows what could happen
> 
> (BTW the AU name is DotEoaC sooo... do what you will with that...)  
> Updating every Friday and Tuesday ... kind of  
> Next chapter on probably next tuesday


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to FINALLY the seventh chapter  
> I don't really have an explanation besides i'm sorry and neither can i say it won't happen again because i don't know about anything i do so... i hope you enjoy this at least!  
> Written by Vayquo. Au and Outline by Pajjpants.  
> Go to @pajjpants on instagram for extra content! :)
> 
> Updating whenever i can, i'm sorry
> 
> Enjoy! :)

**Virgil realizes something**

  
  


“Why...do you need to go there?” Virgil spit out, his vision of the floor blurring beneath his feet. He hadn’t thought that he had actually heard the words. It was like his head was submerged in water, senseless gargon that he was meant to not understand. 

 

The man’s jaw locked and his eyes fleeted around, impatience growing. 

 

Probably bitter from the series of explanations, “I don’t know if you’ve missed out on the whole conversation but, I’m  _ looking for someone _ ?” His foot tapped against the ground, his arms folded over his chest.

 

Still trying to focus in on the muddled interactions, his belly roaring, warmly scorched by his anxiety. “Oh - yeah - I just - I mean, Foster’s bakery is where you want to go? It’s where this person is?” Rocking back on his heels, feigning casualty.

 

Grumbling, the stranger’s hands desperate, fleeing this way and that.“Alright, fine. Thank you so much for the help, really, this was great.” 

 

Guilt sunk its teeth into Virgil. “No, wait. I - I’ll help.” 

 

“Oh?” Stopping in his tracks, his eyes hopeful for just a second before his face going back to its hostility. 

 

“I know someone there, so I…” Virgil rubbed his fingers against one another, searching for a feeling of security.

 

Brows raised. “You do?” 

 

Virgil nodded, scuffling his shoes across the floor.

 

“May I ask, who you are?” It was like the man was holding a magnifying glass up to his face, inspecting all the nooks and crannies that he tried to hide. 

 

Tired, frustrated, and did I mention tired? “It’s Virgil. Do I need to spell it?” He grit out, a snarl creeping into his lips. 

 

Ignoring Virgil’s tone, “I am Prince Roman, since we’re telling secrets.” His shoulders slung back, a new wave up confidence coming with a baloney title. 

 

Virgil outright laughed, his laughter the only sound in the sea of quiet in the night. “Sure, sweety, and I’m an heir to a throne. That’s cute, though.” A smile twitched onto his face. 

 

“Roman’s” eyes narrowed. “Yes,  _ actually.  _ Why would you think that’s cute?” 

 

Leaning forward, circling “Roman” his back hunched over, his face tilted upwards. A hair-raising grin stretched across his face. “You’re telling me, that a  _ prince _ is haunting streets that have glass littering the floors, apt to bleed feet?” “Roman” seemed to inspect his shoes, concerned at that, “Go on and tell me who you really are. This was definitely very entertaining but, nonetheless, I can’t just let anyone into my friend’s bakery.” “Roman” gulped at that, taking a step back from Virgil as if now seeing how suspicious of a person he really was.

 

Sighing, “Roman” flipped his hood off. “No, see? Prince Roman.” 

 

Quirking a brow. “You don’t look like him very much…” 

 

“Roman” scoffed, my face wrinkling into distinct fury. “That’s not possible, I  _ am  _ him!” Flinging his hands out to gesture to himself.

 

Moving on from this, very obviously, sensitive topic, “Anyways, do you know the name of this guy or are you just wandering aimlessly, falsifying yourself as a prince?” Questions were the only key that could unlock this mystery, after all. 

 

“Kind of…?” “Roman” said, his voice hitching up like it was a question.

 

“Ah.” 

 

“I know it is…” Eyes light up, “A thief! The worst sorts.” 

 

Virgil laughed. You have got to be kidding. The world was a cruel thing, wasn’t it?

 

“What’s so funny?” “Roman” asked, unamused. 

 

Smiling, “Life.” 

 

His face the mirror image of someone biting into a lemon cake expecting strawberry.“Oh, how poetic you are.” 

 

“...And you need him for…?” Virgil queried, looking the stranger up and down.

 

“Your questions get very redundant, you know that?” 

 

“You need him for?” Virgil repeated.

 

“Roman” rolled his eyes. “I have to give him something.” 

 

“Intrigue.” 

 

“I’m aware.”

 

“I’m sure you are.” 

 

Huffing and groaning, a strange running in place and a flail of hands, like someone trying to be rid of a spider on their clothes. “Can we hurry this on? I must get back to the castle before anyone notices my absence.” A bit bratty. Definitely fussy.

 

“Ooh, how ostentatious.” 

 

“Ooh, how biggy-wordy of you.” “Roman” mused, his lips pursed and pouty.

 

Straightening his spine, “I will remind you once more, I’m in a crunch of time, and as much as I’d love to bicker with you till sunrise, I do actually have to go eventually. Now, for the last time: Show me the way to Foster’s Bakery!” 

 

“I’ve changed my mind, you can find it on your own.” Virgil teased, slouching and poking at “Roman’s” physical and emotional buttons.

 

“Ugh, commoners.” He snarled.

 

“Ugh, ‘royalty.’” Virgil replied, grinning. Poking again at a brass button.

 

His eyes frantic, now. As if the realization struck him as much as it did Virgil. They had been out for quite a while now. The sun threatened to rise. “C’mon, I need to do it now. I don’t think I’ll have a chance later.”

 

“Then,  _ what. Is. It.”  _ Virgil pushed.

 

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business, really.” 

 

“But what if it was?” 

 

“It’s not and we both know it.” 

 

“Just like how we both know you’re not Prince Roman.” 

 

“Will you just hush already and tell me?” “Roman” interrupted, eyes aflame and dizzying. 

 

“I can’t risk putting Patton in danger like that, not for my mistakes!” Virgil broke, his hands shaking. 

 

Squinting, trying to understand a strikingly detailed painting. A painting that he had just realized was much bigger than he thought. “I really did love this mysterious charade that you put up, it was really vibing with me I must say but, this just confuses me.” 

 

“I- I have to go.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so there's no proverb because it's a lot of work and i'm not sure you guys care very much about that anymore. 
> 
> If you want to read more content written by Vayquo, you can go check out "Love is a Lottery Ticket," it does have abuse, so be careful.
> 
> Why not drop a kudos for a couple of pals, comments are good, too, i mean who knows what could happen
> 
> (BTW the AU name is DotEoaC sooo... do what you will with that...)  
> i hope you liked this chapter!


End file.
